


Chemical synthesis reaction

by Raen_Fay



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26024719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raen_Fay/pseuds/Raen_Fay
Summary: 'A synthesis usually describes the transformation of two or more elements into a new entity. 'When Sherlock explains to me that he no longer believes that feelings are a chemical defect, but follow a chemical synthesis reaction, I am not only absolutely confused, but also deeply hurt.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 19





	Chemical synthesis reaction

Sherlock had been sitting in his armchair for quite a while now and I noticed very clearly that something was completely different than usual. Again, and again he remained in his thinking position, his hands joined under his chin. There was nothing unusual about this, however, as he sometimes sat in this position for several hours without moving. The strange thing was that his gaze kept gliding towards me for a few seconds.  
I stood there, holding a tea in my hand, leaning against the kitchen table and observed Sherlock's unusual behaviour. I got the impression that he didn't even notice that his gaze kept gliding over to me. A few times he had already taken a deep breath and was about to say something, but then he paused again and again. When he finally said something, I was so shocked that I poured some of the hot tea over my hand and sucked in the air with a hissing sound.  
"John, I suspect that I have succumbed to a false assumption," he said, making me forget everything around me because of this statement, which was atypical for him. I seemed to be frozen and was only able to look at Sherlock in surprise. "Feelings are not a chemical defect at all," he continued and now he made me doubt his health for good. He looked up and examined my unbelieving and surprised expression for a moment.  
"Feelings are a chemical reaction. Certain conditions must be met for two reactants to react with each other," he added, and I was very relieved thanks to this very chemical statement. "I congratulate you on this insight, even though I am not exactly sure whether I can follow your train of thought," I congratulated him.  
"But John, it is quite simple. A chemical defect would mean that there is a defect and therefore almost every human being is defective. A chemical reaction, on the other hand, implies that under certain conditions two people can influence each other or even become one," he explained.  
"And how do you come to this realization right now? You don't usually think so much about feelings", I asked curiously. "Because I believe that I have found someone with whom I only have to find the right conditions," he said.  
A hot pain flashed through me, even more painful than the hot tea that had spilled over my hand just a few moments ago. It was quite clear what Sherlock was trying to tell me with these words, he had fallen in love. This also explained his strange behaviour over the last few weeks, now that I thought about it.  
"Then I wish you good luck in your search," I said and with a jerky movement I led my teacup to my mouth, spilling even more of its contents. With big sips I rushed down the now cold tea and put the empty cup back on the table, with one overly violent movement. Then I went into the hall, grabbed my jacket and put on my shoes.  
"I'm going to the supermarket," I told Sherlock in a hurried manner, but did not get the hopeful look he was giving me. How could I have known that the previous conversation was Sherlock's way of confessing his feelings to me?  
Leaving all shops behind, my heart pulled me closer and closer to the Thames, until I finally came to a halt on a bridge. A light drizzle had set in and wonderfully reflected my current mood. "Why?" I whispered softly and noticed my voice trembling dangerously. It had been so much easier to be in control of my feelings for Sherlock when I was still convinced that he was indeed a person who was not capable of falling in love.  
A tear silently rolled down my cheek, but due to the increasing rain, this was not noticeable at all. Placing my arms on the railing of the bridge I buried my face in my hands. "What have you done to me?", I sobbed and desperately pressed a hand over my mouth to hide the pitiful sounds that were coming out of it.  
I forced myself to breathe deeply, to push the feeling of shattering far away from me. Instead, I concentrated on the sounds around me. I could hear the river lapping its banks, the rain fading, the cars driving by and people making their way through the crowded streets of London. Suddenly, all these noises seemed to get quieter until I only noticed this one pair of steps that approached me confidently and yet somehow unsettled.  
At the edge, I noticed how it completely stopped raining and the sun, standing just over the horizon, fighting its way through the clouds. Surprised, I realized how long I had to stand here when the sun was already about to set. Very clearly, I noticed his gaze that was unwaveringly directed to my back. "John?', he asked cautiously, after he had come to a halt so close behind me that I imagined feeling his warmth.  
The insecurity in his voice made me listen carefully. "John, I was worried. You've been gone so long," he said and his voice trembled slightly. Another detail I was not used to in him at all. "I'm all right, Sherlock," I replied, but I could not turn to him when I spoke. My gaze directed towards the sunset still rolled with scattered tears rolling down my cheeks.  
It hurt to be so close to Sherlock and additionally his strange behaviour unsettled me. "Oh God, John," he breathed, leaning against the railing on the right and left of me and letting his head sink onto my back. Completely overwhelmed, my tortured heart cramped up and almost made me cringe in pain. "What are you doing?", I asked sceptically and stifled all feeling in my voice. To my surprise I managed to do this quite well.  
"Don't you get it?" he wanted to know, and slowly I began to feel that something was going completely wrong here. _What was there to understand? What was there not to understand about his statement?_ "What is it?", I asked and this time you could clearly hear the distress in my voice, which had hit me so finally and with full force a few hours ago. "It's you, John. You are the person who made me aware that I am able to feel and that I was probably wrong in my assumption. John, I...", he replied so quietly and buried his face in my back even more, that I wasn't really sure if I fully understood what he was trying to tell me.  
Carefully I straightened up and turned around to him. A deep insecurity filled his eyes and I had never seen him so incredibly fragile. "You meant ...", I started, but could not finish the sentence, because my voice just broke away. I cleared my throat briefly. "You meant me with your words?" I finally said. He nodded slightly, looking at me hopefully.  
Carefully I raised my left hand and placed it on his chest, right where his heart was beating. He opened his eyes and looked at me questioningly. "Sherlock, may I...", I began, but was interrupted by him bending down to me and very cautiously putting his lips onto mine. Without thinking much about it, I placed my right hand on his neck and played with the wet, dark curls.  
I noticed how he hesitantly took his hands off the railing and put them on my back. Again and again his lips slid gently over mine. My whole body was tingling and my only thought was that I had never imagined a kiss with Sherlock so soft. However, I had to admit to myself that this gentleness was much more intense than anything I had imagined. "Sunset, despair and wet to the bone," Sherlock murmured softly, between two kisses. "What?", I asked, completely clouded by Sherlock's tenderness. "Our reaction conditions," he replied, tentatively searching for my left hand, which was still on his chest. With a broad smile I let it happen, and for the first time I became so truly aware of how small my hands seemed in contrast to Sherlock's.  
"Shall we go back?" Sherlock wanted to know, after looking happily at me for quite a while. I nodded slightly. All the way back to Baker Street, Sherlock held my hand as if he was afraid he was going to lose me. Before we finally entered the house, I pulled Sherlock towards me for a quick kiss. "Do you know I've wanted to do that since the first time we walked through that door?" I whispered against his lips.


End file.
